


It Takes An Irradiated Settlement

by ballot



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Post-Canon, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 06:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballot/pseuds/ballot
Summary: Maggie was nine years old when she fell in love with the boy from the Vault. He'd walked into town pale and squinting, all long legs and lanky arms, with dark hair so clean it was glossy in the sun. He asked her something — directions, her name? She's never remembered — and smiled with teeth whiter than even his skin.She has been in love with The Lone Wanderer for nine years... along with everybody else.





	1. It Always Protects

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story for anyone who’s ever done stupid awkward shit because of a crush and now sometimes lies in bed embarrassed about it years later. Written 1000 years ago in 2011 to fill a Fallout Kink Meme prompt, and revised for your viewing pleasure. Now with added em-dashes!

 

It's a sunny day in Megaton and Maggie is leaning on a railing outside the water processing plant, pouting over all she surveys. There is a breeze that comes and goes, and the ends of her long hair flutter at her elbows.

The town bustles below her: rickety old Cromwell is still preaching by the dormant bomb in its center, with unfaltering zest that's hard not to admire at this point. Just a few steps away at the Brass Lantern, Jenny Stahl is chatting up the new school teacher, whose four young students are taking turns imitating Doc Church's Brahmin. By the gate, Lucas Simms is giving advice to Stockholm's recent apprentice, Billy. A heavily pregnant Nova eases down one of the side ramps, pausing to glare at the cackling, wrinkled Jericho.

Maggie smiles, then sighs. Megaton, like her, has grown and developed, but Megaton, unlike her, is full of love and life. Just behind her, against the door of the water plant, Harden is making out with a trader. Maggie is standing out here, making out with no-one.

"Hey, kid."

She turns, but she already knows who it is; there are only two people in town with voices that drag their words over rocks, and only one of them calls her 'kid'. Gob pulls one of his hands out of his pockets to give her a little wave.

"What're you up to?"

"Oh, nothing. Did you need something?"

"Thanks, but don't worry about it. Just picking up a refill." The ghoul's eyes are suddenly caught and he tilts his head to look past the railing; Maggie is still fascinated by the way his exposed muscles push and pull. "Hey, looks like Gabe really is back."

Her head snaps to the side so fast that her hair flares out, and, lo and behold: Gabriel Aberdeen, the Last, Best Hope of Humanity, steps out of Lucy West's house. He grins at the light of day that greets him, flashing still-pearly whites and squinting eyes bluer than the sky above. He pushes back hair that is now short and slightly sun-bleached, and the action accentuates the swell of his bicep; the past nine years have left him with considerable bulk roping no-longer lanky limbs.

With a hitch of a breath, Maggie is off, scampering down re-purposed airplane scraps and leaving Gob to walk in on Harden Simms with his hands down Trader Nick's pants.

"Well! Morning, Maggie! What's the rush?"

Maggie catches her breath with her hands on her knees. Of course a chunk of Cromwell's congregation would decide to trot up the ramps together and leave no space for passers-by. Megaton is getting crowded.

"Morning... Lucy. W... Where's Gabe...?"

"Gabe? You just missed him." Lucy West tilts her head and smiles toward the sky. "Fresh off a week of doing who knows what out there, and he still came to see me right away... He's great, isn't he?"

"Yeah. He is." Maggie frowns as she straightens up, and Lucy notices.

"What's the matter? Why're you looking for him — is everything okay?"

Maggie shifts her weight to her other foot, suddenly contrite. Anybody looking for Megaton's resident hero in such a rush is bound to set off some alarms.

"No, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to see him, because, um... Why are you smiling like that?"

"You're just so cute!" Maggie's cheeks get hot as Lucy laughs. "Don't worry, I'm sure he's resting up at home. Why don't you drop by?"

"You can't go empty-handed!" The two women swivel around to find spry old Manya with her hands on her hips. She looks down her nose at them with a haughty air but can't hide the twitch of a smile. "It would be awfully rude to visit someone without a gift, you know!"

Maggie does a quick estimation of her personal belongings (childish) and funds (negligible) and huffs in frustration.

"A gift like what?"

"Yeah, what do you get a guy like Gabe anyway?"

Manya chuckles and looks kindly upon the two young women.

"Do you girls know what the fastest way to a man's heart is?"

"Through the chest?"

"With a bullet?"

"No, no, no..." Manya laughs again, and the sound is warm and sweet. She leans forward with an air of conspiracy and Lucy and Maggie find themselves drawn in. "It's through his stomach!"

 

* * *

 

The first thing Billy Creel notices when he gets home is the smell of his favourite dish. The scent of Maggie's special Brahmin barbecue is a rare but always welcome treat that never fails to seduce his stomach into a demanding entity of its own.

The second thing Billy (the man, not the stomach) notices is Maggie herself, moving with the confidence and grace of a seasoned merc in the night around a stove that, just a few years ago, she was afraid to touch. Hell, she could barely even reach the dials, and now her  _hair_  is as long as she was tall. Just when did she grow up?

"Is it my birthday already? At this rate I'll look like Moriarty by tomorrow."

Maggie slings him a side-glance a wry smile.

"Sorry, Billy. Not for you."

Putting on a crestfallen air is easy; he really is hungry.

"But who could possibly deserve my Maggie's world famous barbecue more than me?" The young woman is careful to keep her expression schooled, which is exactly what gives her away. "So Gabe really is back in town?"

The screech of the fork she jerks across their nicest plate drowns out her gasp.

"Why — why do you say that?"

Billy chuckles and ruffles up her hair in passing, deciding to cut her some slack.

"Just making conversation, sweetheart."

He takes an Aqua Pura from the fridge and sits at the table. Sometimes he wants to sip at an old, still-irradiated bottle just to fully appreciate the contrast of the crisp, clean taste of Gabe's gift to the Wastes. Maggie starts to hum, an old lullaby he'd heard from a trader back in the day, and it makes him frown. He wants to instill the fear of God (or his gun) in whatever chump that would dare get involved with her, but this particular chump took down the Enclave for drinking water. How do you intimidate a guy like that?

At the same time, he's relieved. Maggie's childhood crush has proved enduring, and so has the reputation of its focus. Gabe was a nice kid, sure, but the Wasteland hardened — or ruptured — even the softest of hearts, particularly those worn on the sleeve. Nearing thirty, Gabriel is still as soft-hearted as ever, and Maggie couldn't have picked a better man to pine over.

Still, soft-hearted and nearly thirty. The type who won't say no, for how many years?

A plate with two glorious skewers of perfectly grilled Brahmin chunks appears before him, and his free hand automatically accepts it. Maggie grins at him through the steam wafting off the heavenly bounty with a side of baked potato.

"I thought these weren't for me?"

"Oh, please. Nobody deserves my world-famous barbecue more than you."

She heads back into the kitchen as he takes a bite. It's even tender. The seasoning is slightly different from how she usually does it, but it's better, has a kick you can appreciate without getting overwhelmed. Did she figure that out on her own? Oh, Maggie, you are ready for marriage.

Except when she emerges with the rest of the dish covered on their best plate for someone else — someone who has spent the last nine years travelling to places they didn't know existed, risking his life for the good of others and never turning down a plea for help, no matter how deep the shit got — the delectable morsel in his mouth gets a little harder to swallow.

"Maggie. I know Gabriel's a nice guy, but... he's called the Lone Wanderer, you know?"

Maggie raises a brow.

"Really, is he?"

Billy sets his plate down and stands to fully face her.

"I'm trying to say... he's lone. He  _wanders_. He's not the settling down type."

"Billy — "

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Maggie."

His daughter pauses, then also sets down the plate she's holding. She wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes as hard as she can. He remembers the little girl who, in the beginning, wouldn't even hold his hand. Couldn't.

"Don't you worry about me. I know journeying is more home to him than his house. And, besides, he's probably got more girls out there than that Dave guy. It's not like I'm in  _love_  or anything." She taps on the plate she prepared for Gabriel. "Just showing a little appreciation. He's a nice guy  _and_  the Lone Wanderer, you know?"

Billy doesn't believe her but sees her off regardless. The meal she made him waits on the table.

 

* * *

 

The last rays of light streak the horizon as the sun sets, and Maggie is ignorant of its majesty. All she does is stare.

The door to Gabe's house stares back.

_Just knock!_

It's not like she hasn't done this before. Not like she hasn't grown up knocking on this door out of boredom or excitement or, a few times best forgotten, fear. This isn't even the first time she's had a gift with her, or been an eighteen-year-old in front of it.

But it is the first time she's stood there as an eighteen-year-old-going-on-nineteen and feeling it. The first time standing there and wondering why she ever thought Gabe would be excited to hear about her first hunting trip (but always appreciating that he  _was_ ). The first time standing there and realizing that she and Harden don't play ding-dong-ditch on Wadsworth anymore. The first time standing there listening to the bustle of Megaton's blossoming nightlife and having zero interest in it. It's her first time standing there hoping for something more than vague and convoluted little daydreams coming to life. There's a weight in her chest that marks this moment as a milestone. A turning point.

She is standing in front of an old and dented metal door with a plate of rapidly cooling meat in one hand. Just knock, Maggie.

So she raises her free hand and raps on the door. Immediately she can hear Wadsworth's muffled puttering as he hovers over. The door swings open.

"Good evening, madame. What can — "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's a  _madame_? Shove over, Andy Senior."

With a weary ( _weary?_ ) "as you wish, sir", Wadsworth moves away, allowing Maggie entry. The rickety dining table's been moved into the living area, and a dark-skinned man with styled hair and a worn and patched leather jacket draped over his chair sits at it, across from Megaton's second ghoul, Charon. Next to where Charon's crutch leans on the table is a pile of bottlecaps substantially larger than his companion's. A third pile, smaller than Charon's but still dwarfing the man's, sits by the far edge of the table, along with another hand of cards.

"Well,  _hello_  beautiful. How come I ain't seen you around this dump before?"

"You have," Charon grumbles, throwing a card down, "last time we were here. You're gettin' senile."

"Master DeLoria's last visit ended approximately one year, three months, eighteen days, two hours, and forty-five minutes ago," Wadsworth primly declares, helpfully remembering that humans have no need for down-to-the-second accuracy.

"Hey, shut it, Tin Can! And The Butch-Man ain't senile, Chuckles! I'd remember a fox like this!"

 _The Butch-Man_  jolts Maggie into recognition; she can hear the phrase being said by the same voice, with the exact same tone and inflection, in a distant memory.

"No, I remember you — you hit on me last time, too. Billy stuck you in a headlock after."

Butch stares, mouth hanging open.

"What... You mean Biwwy? That dweeb? No fuckin' way."

"I believe madame is referring to her guardian, Billy Creel, sir." Wadsworth is definitely sounding derisive, especially with his sarcastic little "sir", but the seriousness with which Butch glares at him speaks not of anger, but of cogs grinding painfully into place.

"Billy Creel... he the one with the eye-patch?"

"He is indeed, sir."

"No shit." Looking away, he takes a gulp of beer and mumbles, "your old man's a, uh, sturdy guy."

Maggie grins. Wadsworth floats in front of her once more.

"Now, Madame, what can I help you with?"

"I was wondering if I could see Gabe... is he around?"

"Everyone wants to see Gabe," Butch snorts. "Tough luck. You just missed him."

Oh, no. Maggie swallows.

"He left? Already?"

"Yeah, crazy, right? Asked if I wanted to come with, too. No way I'm sleepin' on the rocks when I'm already here. Of course the dog went with 'im, the keener. Why?" He points with his chin at the plate she's holding. "Got him a little somethin'-somethin'?"

Maggie sighs, and places the plate on the table, between Nuka-Cola and beer bottles and a half-empty can of Pork 'n' Beans.

"I guess it's not for him anymore. You guys can have it."

As she leaves, she can hear Butch exclaiming over her cooking.

( _"It's beef! And it doesn't taste like ass! Betcha wish it was Deathclaw meat though, huh?"_

 _"It's a passive grudge for me. Call."_ )

It brings a smile to her face that is quickly erased by the heavy sense of defeat. She feels as though she'd been directly rejected by Gabe, just with his absence.

 _Why doesn't he ever stay?_  she wonders, though the question seems null when she considers her surroundings. She can't blame him for going out and seeking other places, other people. Nobody would stay. Especially not  _The Lone Wanderer_.


	2. It Always Trusts

 

It's an early Megaton morning and Maggie is among the first to sit down for breakfast at the Brass Lantern, beating the inevitable rush of settlers new and old. On the stool next to her sits Red, the  _nice_  town doctor who lets her help out twice a week, and next to Red sits a heavily hungover Trader Nick. Maggie's closest friend is a steaming bowl of squirrel stew, which her hair almost falls into as she hangs her head. Like Nick, she has not gotten much sleep. Unlike Nick, her sleep deprivation was not caused by the exuberance of an estranged lover — quite the opposite, in fact.

Jenny Stahl sets a bottle of Aqua Pura down in front of Nick; the drops of condensation on its surface are a testament to Harden's need to always be doing something with his hands, tinkering with fridges being only one of his many pastimes. Another of these pastimes takes the bottle with a groan.

"Can I get a Mentat to go with this? Or ten?"

"You do know those don't actually get rid of hangovers, don't you, Knick Knack Nick?" Red chides around the lip of her own water bottle.

"But they make me  _feel_  like they can, see?"

Maggie exhales a laugh and Jenny pats her hand.

"That laugh's a start, but I'm still wondering when we're going to see that smile, especially with your big day tomorrow! What's got you so down? Are you sick?" As Maggie shakes her head, Jenny presses on. "This wouldn't have anything to do with how quickly Gabe left yesterday, would it?"

Heat flares in Maggie's cheeks.

"Why does everyone think Gabe is my problem?"

"Gabe's absence is everyone's problem," Red remarks. Nick nods next to her, then halts abruptly and seems to regret it.

"Don't be embarrassed, sweetie! I'm sure he'll be back soon and the two of you can pick up where you left off." The proprietress smiles kindly, and it makes Maggie feel worse.

"It's not like there's anywhere to pick up from..."

"And there's my dose of awkward for the day." Red stands to leave, pushing her bowl away. "Thanks for the grub, Jenny."

It takes a moment after Red leaves for Jenny to stack the used dishes and smile at Maggie again.

"Well. I'm sure a girl like you will have no problem snatching him up when he gets back."

On bad days, the faith of others tends to foster a bubbling anxiety within Maggie, a result of her need to please others clashing with her insecurities. Today has been a bad day since last night. She grimaces.

"You'd know all about snatching guys up, wouldn't you?" Nick avoids Jenny's glare by snickering gently into his noodles, and Maggie doesn't seem to notice it at all. She sits up hopefully.

"You do, Jenny? Got any tips?"

"Oh! Alright, here's a timeless tidbit: men love it when you play hard to get."

"Hard to get?"

" _Really_?" Nick scowls.

Jenny nods sagely.

"Men love the chase. The more aloof and detached you are, the more irresistible you become. It's never steered me wrong."

Maggie tries to process this but Nick interrupts with incredulity.

"Hold on, back up! Never steered you wrong? Then why was your brother complaining about you being an old maid at Moriarty's last night?"

"One of  _my_  brothers?" Jenny's face is a rictus of congeniality, and she forces her words out through teeth gritted in a grin. "At Moriarty's?"

Nick is saved from unspeakable pain by the man with the heroic timing: Gabe precedes himself with a cheery "Good morning!" and everyone freezes. Time seems to slow at the sound of his voice. Both Maggie and Nick turn to see Gabriel standing in the rising sun. He's still wearing the clover-emblazoned combat armor that is customary of his Wasteland sojourns, as well as the familiar duffle bag strapped across his back. One hand balances his signature Gauss rifle jauntily over a shoulder and the other points two fingers to tip his kepi.

"How's it going?"

Jenny recovers first, hurrying to wrap her arms around him. "Gabe! Back so soon? Although I certainly won't complain!"

"Hard to get, my ass," Nick mutters, knocking back the last of his water. Maggie agrees with dismay. Jenny is all over Gabriel, rubbing his arm and stepping in close as they exchange pleasantries. What happened to being aloof?

And yet, the Stahl sister doesn't seem to be making any progress. Gabe is polite and engaged, but he doesn't look enamoured. Even if the rumours are colourful in detailing a tryst upon the very surface Maggie was eating off of, the interaction before her doesn't speak of any such goings on — in the past, perhaps, but certainly not in the future. Maybe Jenny's advice holds some weight, after all.

So when Gabriel slings his arms over her and Nick's shoulders, settling on the stool between them, Maggie stiffens and suppresses a happy grin.

"Knick Knack Nick and Maggie Creel! How've you two been?" She wills herself not to melt against the deep rumble of his voice. Nick answers with a weary yet contented anecdote and Maggie doesn't answer at all. Gabe tilts his head. "Maggie? Feeling alright? You're not sick, are you?"

 _Men love the chase._  She gives him a quick look, a tiny shrug under his arm.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, now I  _know_  you're not fine," he chuckles. She thinks if she straightens up a bit more, she'll be able to feel the stubble on his jaw. "Luckily, I've got something that might cheer you up."

His hand squeezes her shoulder before it leaves to rummage in his bag. Maggie's eyes widen as all pretenses drop; her heart beats faster, and she thinks she might forget how to breathe. Gabe has something for her?

It turns out to be quite the worn-out something, but most somethings of the Wasteland often are. It still needs a wash, though most of the dust has been shaken off. In her hands it feels a bit deflated, but, somehow, that just makes her like it more. She didn't think she'd still like something like this, but there's one enormous reason that she does: it's a teddy bear that Gabe has saved, just for her.

"Gabe... thank you!"

He leans back and gives that easy grin.

"Hey, no problem, just glad you like it. I used to collect them for Marie, but she says she's too old for them now. When I saw this one, though, I thought — oh, are you heading off?"

"Sorry, I have to go." She drops a few caps next to her bowl and walks-not-runs away, skillfully avoiding eye contact with every eye in town. When she gets home, she primly shuts the door behind her, then rears back to hurl the bear at the wall as hard as she can.

But she can't. It's floppy and pathetic and meant for some other girl, but  _Gabe_  gave it to her and it looks just like the only other one she has (Mister Beads) and the very first one she ever had (Teddy, rest his soul).

Her arm drops to her side. She stares at the wall until it gets blurry.

"Maggie?" The floors creak and she has just enough time to rub a fist into her eyes before Billy comes down, book in hand. She used to adore his books. "What's the matter? You're not coming down with something, are you? You've got a big day tomorrow."

She clears her throat.

"No, I'm okay."

"What've you got there?"

Maggie gives him a kiss on the cheek on the way to her room.

"Oh, nothing."

 

* * *

 

"I just… I have no idea where to go from here."

Maggie glumly leans against a wall in the Craterside Supply, next to the workbench occupied by the ever-experimenting Moira and her new, hooded assistant. They're working on some sort of hollow sculpture that Maggie can't make heads or tails of, but she's just thankful that the shop is significantly less combustible than normal.

"Gosh, I'm sorry, Maggie! I wish I could be more help, but — hold this, would you? — there aren't many guys who'll let me run tests on them." Moira leans back to pin her merc with a hopeful expression. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

"Not enough caps in the world, Moira."

She shrugs cheerily back at Maggie.

"See? Ronnie, do you have any idea?"

Ronnie offers a sheepish grin, still hammering away at the scrap of metal on the workbench.

"Sorry. Never had much interest in men myself."

"Why don't you ask Nova? She's having a baby, so I'm sure she's had an awful lot of experience."

"Nova... That's a great idea!" Maggie pushes off the wall. "Thanks, guys!"

"No problem! Now, can you hand back the — oops! She's gone!"

 

* * *

 

Over the years, Moriarty's has gained a reputation for being the best bar in the Wastes, the watering hole of choice for none other than The Lone Wanderer himself. As a result, it enjoys extremely packed evenings, so much so that Moriarty's taken on new employees and, thanks to Gabe's interference, given all of them proper salaries. With all the increased revenue, the old man's mood has mellowed and Billy has been much less strict about Maggie's visiting (so long as he doesn't know she does).

During the day, the saloon is dead but for the beams of sunlight that filter in, one or two drowsy patrons, and the pair of Nova and Gob, working the slow shift after years of hardship. When Maggie walks in, the two are chatting over the bar, throwing out baby names.

"Hey, kid."

"Afternoon, sugar."

"Hi, guys. Nova, can I ask you something?"

The older woman pats the bar stool next to her and Maggie takes the seat.

"What's on your mind?"

With a burst of courage, it comes out in a rush: " _Couldyouteachmehowtobeseductive_?"

To her credit, Nova's eyebrows don't shoot up very high — and Gob doesn't really have any, so it's easy to ignore his surprise.

"What's brought this on? Did Gabe say something to you?"

Maggie is too flustered to be bothered by her blush. The bumps on the dense metal cylinder Moira handed her earlier bite into her clenched fist.

"Why does everyone think of Gabe first?"

"It's hard not to," Nova drawls with a smirk. "You have men, and then you have Gabriel Aberdeen."

"You sure do, don't you?" Out from the bathroom strolls Nova's replacement, a leggy blonde with a long scar marring otherwise flawless features. She slides onto the stool at Maggie's other side and taps a cigarette into the bar's ashtray in a fluid motion.

"What're you saying?" Gob grumbles, more abrasively than Maggie's used to. Christine Kendall scoffs.

"Oh, come on. Who else could have knocked her up?"

"I don't know," Nova deadpans, "Jericho's still kickin' pretty hard."

Christine scrunches up her pretty nose.

"Yuck. Fine, keep your secrets. Now, you the girl who's trying to get into Gabe's pants?"

Is spontaneous combustion the result of exponential amounts of embarrassment? Maggie doesn't know, but she's sure her cheeks could set something on fire. Christine looks her over.

"Not bad. A little prudish, though." She tugs Maggie to her feet and starts unbuttoning and rearranging her blue dress. "There are two things you need to do to seduce a man, kiddo. The first is to tease him, show a little skin." Her top is opened much too low and her skirt hiked much too high. As soon as Christine moves away, Maggie clutches the cylinder to her chest in both hands like a prayer for protection. Christine slaps her hands away. "Don't cover up! The second thing is to  _own_  it. Draw attention to your wares — your mouth, too. You need to carry yourself like you have something to tease about!"

Nova gives her cheek a playful pinch. "She's right, honey. Keep your chin up and your chest out and you'll keep the jaws dropped."

"What chest? All I see're a pair of bloatfly bites." Maggie clenches her jaw at the appearance of Colin Moriarty, the many lines on his face pulled into a scowl. "I'd better not hear you complainin' about bein' too tired later, Chrissy."

"Yes, Mr. Moriarty," Christine mumbles around her cigarette, rising. She rolls her eyes at Maggie. "Don't mind him. He's just jealous because his breasts aren't as perky as yours."

"Get yer droopin' ass in bed, girl!"

Christine glares but heads on up, and Moriarty turns to mutter to Gob. Nova rubs Maggie's arm.

"Keep your chin up and you can survive even him."

Maggie's about to say something involving ending his survival, but the door to the saloon opens, and of course it's Gabriel who walks in. Nova gives her shoulders a squeeze and whispers  _"go get him, Mags"_  before pushing her forward. Maggie stumbles onto her feet right in front of Gabe, who looks down at her with his perpetual smile. Her spine snaps straight and she tosses her hair back to buy time to compose herself; Gabe seems to follow the motion with his eyes, and it sends a rush through her.

_Chin up, chest out. I can do this!_

"Hey, Gabe." He is staring — actually staring! — and looks her up and down. Maggie carefully tilts her head and leans toward him, pushing her chest out. His eyes follow the line of her body down and light up.

"Ah, there you are."

Bolstered and bold, she remembers about her mouth and brings up her hand to trace the edge of the cylinder against her bottom lip.

"Um, like what you see?"

"I sure do." He gestures at her mouth and clears his throat. "May I?"

She's so frozen it's all she can do to nod, and she shifts her weight to her toes and her eyes slide shut as Gabe moves closer and  _oh my God this is really happening_  and his hand closes around hers and his other hand pries out the metal cylinder and — wait, what?

Maggie opens her eyes. Gabriel is holding the cylinder aloft to observe it in the light.

"Do you think I could borrow this?"

Maggie slumps, chin down, chest uncomfortably exposed.

"Sure. It's yours."

He beams at her.

"Thanks! I'll have it back to you real soon, Mags."

He strides back out, and the door closes on a thick silence, which is quickly punctured by a booming laugh.

"Oh, mercy me! I don't think there's been such a spectacular crash and burn since the bombs fell!"

"Leave her alone, Colin," Nova sighs, but the old man continues his chortling. Maggie spins to face him and stamps her foot in a burst of emotion.

"Oh, fuck off and die already, why don't you!"

Silence settles once more. Maggie immediately regrets saying such a thing but in the stillness she can't bring herself to move, feeling so full of frustration and anger that it might all come pouring out. Nova's brows shoot up quite high this time, and Gob openly gapes. Moriarty settles his hands on the bar with a leer.

"Now, what happened to the wee lass who'd come in here in her jammies weepin' for her one-eyed mum? I can barely see her under all this anger and so-called cleavage."

The swell of humiliation bursts through her regret and Maggie Creel truly and genuinely hates Colin Moriarty. Furiously buttoning up her dress, she spits, "she grew up. If only you would, too. Right into your grave."

Without waiting for a response, Maggie stomps out of the saloon and slams the door behind her.

"Do you always have to be such an ass?" Nova grouses, scowling at Moriarty. He snickers in response.

"Just keepin' meself ready for when your spawn plops out, Nova dear."


	3. It Always Hopes

When morning hits Megaton, Maggie decides it is a nineteen-year-old's morning, and rightfully so: her Big Day is here, and, lying awake with streaks of shame drying on her cheeks, she has seen it dawn. It's a nineteen-year-old's Megaton morning, and she decides to make it hers.

Running water from an ancient faucet cleanses her face of eighteen-year-old folly, and she rinses and spits out the embarrassment that had choked her into a sleepless night. She grabs one of the few apples left from the latest Rivet City supply visit as fuel for her determination.

Finally, she ties all of her hair back and up with a precious cut of ribbon, off of her neck and out of her face. She's always felt safe under her bangs, with her hair draped down her back, but safety blankets — as Miss Mack had once explained — are for children, and Maggie is nineteen. At nineteen, Gabriel Aberdeen became the biggest hero of the wasteland. At nineteen, Maggie Creel is going to successfully seduce Gabriel Aberdeen.

Maggie exits her small and quiet house into her small and bustling home, blinking in the sun. She smooths down her clothes, takes a deep breath, rubs her nose. Then she is running, weaving nimbly around groaning and rusted patches of ramp and through throngs of other morning Megatonians — groggy students, frazzled mothers, masses of the hungover — with the agility of a true child of the city. She ducks under signs and vaults over railings and shoots out  _hello_ s to shopkeepers the way mercs weave through danger and pick off enemies.

She is on the top of her game by the time she reaches Gabe's house, and without any hesitation to kill her momentum she knocks on the door, tensing. As soon as he answers she's going to spring forward and throw herself at him and do everything she's heard about to get his attention, but not all at once — well maybe all at once if it'll help but she's not sure how it'd work because she only has two hands —

The door opens and Maggie just manages to stop herself from sexually assaulting Wadsworth.

"Good morning, madame! Might I congratulate you on the nineteenth anniversary of your birth?"

"Thanks, Wadsworth. Is Gabe — ?"

"Is that Maggie Creel?" Stockholm, the town's trusted sniper, peers curiously at her from Megaton's outer path, goggles pushed into chestnut hair shot through with grey. "Looking for Gabe? You just missed him."

The all-too familiar words sap Maggie of everything; she thinks she is literally deflating.

"He left again?"  _Today?_

"Yep, bright and early — well, barely bright and ungodly early, like always."

"Oh... thanks, Stockholm, Wadsworth."

And just like that, Maggie stops caring about anything. She doesn't care about being nineteen, she doesn't care about how the lumps of fruit are sloshing around in her stomach, and if she could just be teleported into her bed to wallow in nothingness, she'd have her whole life settled.

As she heads home the way Stockholm arrived, plodding and sullen down a less-trod path, the town sentry calls after her:

"Hey, thanks for turning nineteen today! I can't remember the last time I got a night off..."

His chuckling fades into the noise of the waking town. Maggie thinks a night off from everything — and more importantly, everyone — sounds perfect.

 

* * *

 

It seems like everyone in Megaton has come out to celebrate, and that's because it's likely that everyone  _has_. The high stakes of Wasteland living brings with it a healthy appreciation for simply being alive, which is compounded by both being alive for a long time and being alive with other people. Maggie has been alive for nineteen years, the majority of which was spent being alive with nearly everyone in Megaton.

This is reflected in the way Megaton has been filled and lit up come nightfall: strings of mismatched bulbs wind around railings and even (courtesy of one of Miss Mack's more adventurous students) around the infamous bomb, just as strings of people line the town, chatting and drinking. A sizable portion of the many, many party goers are wearing lovingly scavenged party hats. Gob and Rory McLaren are running drinks and glasses back and forth, working in tandem with Jenny and Leo Stahl; Moriarty drove a hard bargain for his cooperation, but with the promise that the Brass Lantern would close in turn for the next two humongous celebrations, he stands tame outside his bar, regaling a cluster of traders and mercs with an anecdote blanketed in brogue.

With the night off, Christine is by the Water Plant, catching up with Miss Mack and Lucy West, who gestures exuberantly to where her brother Ian stands in polite conversation with Manya. Outside Craterside Supply, Charon is slumped in a chair, listening to Moira and Jericho argue over the virtues of different spare parts, and taking turns with Ronnie in interjecting snide remarks. Down the ramp, Billy is escorting Nova to a seat, waxing poetic on the wonders of the name "William". Red is by the bomb, enthralling Miss Mack's four students with a particularly detailed and gruesome account of the old massacre at Germantown.

On her perch, Maggie sighs. She should feel great. Not only is everyone out to celebrate for her, but Nova and Manya had gotten her all gussied up, staining lips and rouging cheeks and pinning and heating and who-knows-what-ing her hair into the wavy, sultry style floating around on tattered Pre-War ads. She's wearing a dress Harden had gotten Nick to save for her months ago, a pale golden-yellow number with a halter top and the cleanest lace she's ever seen hemming the skirt; it's the kind of glamorous you'd see in a place full of lights and entertainment. The dress cinches around her narrow waist and Miss Mack swears that the heels really "accentuate her legs". She looks amazing, feels sexy, and the entire town is wish her a happy birthday — except for the one person she wants to see most.

Maggie sighs again.

"If you keep moping, I'm dropping you."

"Don't let him scare you, doll, I'll catch ya."

The birthday girl rolls her eyes from her seat on Harden's shoulders, opting to knock back the remains of her spiked and tepid Nuka-Cola instead of address a winking Butch. Harden seems to feel similarly, because whatever expression he wears makes the former Vaultie scowl.

"Hey, lighten up!" Butch plucks the cigarette from his mouth and jabs it at them. "So everyone's favourite puke ain't around, so what? It's a party —  _your_  party — and you can have any guy you want! Take your pick! Live a little!"

"He's right," Nick shrugs, looking the totem of Maggie and Harden up and down with a tipsy leer. "I know I'm liking what I'm seeing."

"Right? That's what I'm sayin'!"

This time, Harden sighs.

"I've changed my mind, Maggie. I don't think I should ever drop you."

She laughs, and life isn't so bad. She has an excellent best friend, drunken admirers, and everyone who passes by smiles or whoops at her. If only Gabe could see her now.

Then Butch blinks at something, and rolls his eyes, and he steps up in front of Harden. As they wait for him to say something, he takes a languid, leisurely drag of his cigarette. He looks up at Maggie, gives her a shrug, and then in a flash he grabs her under the knees and wrenches her legs up, sending her toppling over. It's over so quickly that she's still shrieking when she lands, but she's not dead and people are chuckling above her and when the ground shifts to hold her princess-style, her heart stops. She knows that laugh. God, she's  _dreamt_  of these arms.

Maggie opens her eyes and Gabriel is grinning down at her, cradling her against his chest.

"Whoopsie-daisy, birthday girl."

He sets her gently and gracefully onto her feet, and Maggie is still staring, still wide-eyed and gaping, her fingertips still lingering on his arm.

He gives her shoulders a squeeze. He smells like soap; wherever he came from, he's taken the time to wash up and change clothes (for her!). She loves seeing him in any Pre-War clothing, but this suit is definitely her favourite. A smile creeps onto her face at the sight.

"Gabe... I didn't think you'd come."

"And miss this? I'd never forgive myself. I just got a little caught up when I went to 101 to pick up — actually, I don't think you two have met before. Maggie, this is Amata. Amata, Maggie."

Amata is a beautiful woman with a head of clean, gorgeous wavy hair, wearing a dress she definitely did not travel to Megaton in. When she shakes her hand and tells her how good it is to meet her, wishes her a happy birthday, Maggie doesn't know if she should burst out laughing or crying. Laughing, because of course she should have known better, and crying, because of the unfairness of it all. The two look like opposites, Amata and Gabe, light and dark, but they stand together in a way that is so similar and familiar that it just looks  _right_.

"So that means you two grew up together with Greaseball here, huh?" Nick slurs, ever the conversationalist, completely oblivious to Harden's pointed looks as his position hanging off Harden's neck does not lend itself to a good view of Harden's face.

Butch leans forward and belches into Nick's face.

"Unfortunately," Amata replies, her pretty little nose scrunched in disgust.

"It was more like the two of us growing up together  _despite_ Greaseball here," Gabriel explains, fondness clear in his tone. "Amata and I were best friends. I didn't even like Butch until the first time I saw a Yao Guai chasing him."

"Well  _excuse me_  for not intruding on your little love-fest there!" When Amata and Gabe exchange exasperated looks and chuckle, Butch scoffs and turns to the closest person, Maggie. "Can you believe these guys?"

"Of course I can," she responds sweetly, running her finger along the rim of her tragically empty glass. "They grew up together, and they're together now. It's like, together forever, right?"

The Maggie daintily spreads all her fingers out, and her glass drops onto the ground with a short crack. She meets all the stares with a lazy approximation of shock on her face.

"Oh, shit. Clumsy me. I'll go get a new one..."

She's not quite out of sight when she starts running, but if she waits any longer, she won't be able to see past the tears in her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Maggie doesn't understand why Stockholm has been so eager to get time off lately. The view from his perch is spectacular: the stars light the night sky up above, and the lights of the party sparkle below, littering Megaton like luminescent confetti. Even his apprentice Billy's humming is a perfect fit for the scene, wafting over from the far end of the lookout; quiet and unobtrusive, it fills up just enough of the air to insinuate itself without demanding attention. The tune is sweet and a little sad, one of those love songs Three Dog used to have on repeat back in the day. Before Gabriel Aberdeen unearthed a cache of records to change things up, saving the Capital Wastes yet again.

Maggie hugs her legs closer, pillowing her cheek on her knees. She can feel the chill of the sheet metal at her back, and see the sprawl of her home and her guests right ahead. A few people are stumbling home (and that certain couple is stumbling into the water plant again), but for the most part the festivities rumble on. She can't see where everyone's savior is, but she has the feeling that it's somewhere involving that wonderful and amazing best friend of his.

Maybe he's getting  _her_  pregnant, too. Or maybe he's humoring Jenny Stahl, or visiting Lucy West as soon and as eagerly as possible. And maybe he's thinking of  _Marie_  while he's at it.

But that's not fair, and Maggie knows it. Damn her conscience, and damn Gabriel Aberdeen for once. Just this once! Does he have any idea what he's doing to her while nothing bad ever happens to him? His life is perfect,  _he's_  perfect, and... and Maggie feels awful again, because how can she ever think like that about him? He's always been so cheerful, always been good-natured and generous with his kindness and faith that it's hard to imagine anything bad ever happening to him, let alone remembering the many things that already have. He's lost so much, and he's fought with more than he has just to keep what he's got. More often than not, he's fighting for someone else. How could she ever wish him anything other than happiness?

She's just made herself melt all over for him again and simply the thought of him happy and smiling coaxes out a smile of her own.

This is how Gabriel finds her, sitting alone on her birthday at one end of Stockholm's perch, grinning into her knees.

"If I'd known that a great view was all it took to make you smile, I would've brought you to Tenpenny instead of commissioning Moira and Ronnie."

Maggie looks up for a moment, and the sight of him — a little hair falling over his eyes, a lazy smirk playing on his lips — makes her duck her head against the wave of bitter sadness that rushes over her. At her silence, Gabriel sits down beside her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off of him. In this moment she wants to lean into him more than anything, but she's too tired to let her guard down and have some other woman or some other misunderstanding pop up on his other side. Instead, Maggie peeks at him from the crook of her arm. He has one leg stretched out, with an arm resting on a bent knee.

"Did you need something?"

"Me? No, not particularly." He nods at her. "You do, though. According to all your friends and well-wishers down there. Mind telling me what that something is?"

Maggie decides to throw herself in front of the Deathclaw and looks away, squeezing her eyes shut.

"You, Gabe."

A silence falls, thick and suffocating, but it dissipates much sooner than expected.

With a shrug in his tone, he says simply, "then I'm yours."

One thing that nobody ever really says about the Lone Wanderer is that he is a liar. In fact, Maggie has never heard anyone say that in her entire life. But in this moment, she knows it, sure as she knows all the good he's done, all the secret pathways in Megaton, all the ingredients needed to make absolutely delectable Brahmin barbeque. She knows he's lying, and it's in the easy way he says it, the way the words seem like the most natural thing to fall from his lips — because they are natural, they are honest, and they are things she's seen and heard and can imagine him say to countless people over the years:  _Sure thing. Leave it to me! I've got it. Don't worry about it. Consider it done. I'm your man! I'm yours._

He means it, and that's why she can't believe it; he's going to mean it to the next person who asks, too.

But she can pretend, because even if he's said this to other girls, even if he's fathered children or loves Amata or will leave her alone in the morning, he's still the last thing this town has to give her, and all she now wants from it. She can pretend he means it for her alone, and she can pretend that it's the perfect scenario she's dreamt of since she was a little girl, and if she wakes up alone she'll be alright because she tells herself she will be, like she told Billy she would be. There won't be heartbreak because it isn't an act of love.

She's just showing — and taking — a little appreciation.

There is a moment where she bites her lip, a final wavering, before Maggie Creel leans over and kisses Gabriel Aberdeen.

Eventually, he brings her home.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Maggie is alone, as expected. Still, she closes her eyes and curls up tighter. In this space between waking and dreaming, cloudy with the scent and warmth he left behind, she can believe he's still there next to her. If she concentrates, she can feel his hand resting on her hip, his breath on the back of her neck, slow and content; his warmth radiating through her all along her spine. If she just keeps her eyes shut and doesn't make a sound, she can lie there and have him all to herself.

But the sun brings her back, and she knows it isn't true.


	4. It Always Perseveres

 

It's still morning when they arrive in Megaton, but not for long; the sun blazes high in the sky, and there is not a cloud in sight for reprieve. It is a blessing for the quartet to have made it to a settlement before things really started heating up, but Maggie's companions don't seem to appreciate the sentiment.

"God, I hate this shithole," Angela grouses, wrinkling her flat nose. Regardless, she unzips her cropped leather vest, getting comfortable.

"You come from Big Town and you call  _this_  a shithole?" Butch scoffs, still managing to gawk at the ample amount of breast stretching out thin, faded red fabric. He also his his leather jacket unzipped, but it doesn't often leave his shoulders, not even when they're in uniform — only when it desperately needs repairing or a wash.

"Big Town's expanded, too!" Penny interjects, rubbing a sunburned shoulder. "And it doesn't have creeps like Rory."

"So it's got, what, six houses now?"

"Stop bitching or you'll go even more bald, you old pervert," Angela sneers. Butch sputters.

"I  _ain't_  going bald, you fuckin' brat! Mags, you gonna let 'em talk to me like this?"

Maggie toys absently with the end of her braid, and it occurs to her that Butch, balding and perverted and he is, was the one who taught her such a manageable hairstyle. She owes him. A little.

"Only until after I find Billy."

Ignoring the subsequent outbursts of amusement and fury, Maggie heads onward, inhaling deeply. Nostalgia makes the air taste sweet, as long as she carefully ignores the ever-growing mass of citizens, filthy and sweaty after a morning of living in close, often sweltering quarters. A child breaks free from the crowd and flings herself at Maggie's legs.

" _Maggie_!" She cries, squeezing tight around her hips. "You're back!"

"Stacey!" Maggie exclaims, getting down on one knee to hug the girl properly. "You get prettier every time I come home!"

She's not just being nice; with her father's smooth olive complexion and her mother's fine facial features, Stacey will grow up to be quite the looker. Until then, Stockholm is quite happy to command his now-coworker Billy to threaten the boys from his perch, and Nova is happy to teach her daughter things that will keep Stacey away from the Moriarty way of life.

"I got you something! But first, have you seen Billy — my dad Billy?"

"I might have." With Stacey's sly smile, it's clear that Moriarty can still slip into every Megatonian's way of life. "What did you get me?"

Maggie pinches her cheek.

"You'll love it, I promise, but if I don't give my dad his gift first he'll get jealous of yours and take it away." That, plus she still needs to rid the charm bracelet of dirt and debris.

Stacey makes a petulant noise.

"My dad would get it back. But okay, Mister Creel is at the schoolhouse talking to the Important Guest."

"Alright, thanks, kiddo. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay, and my present better be really really, really really nice!"

Stacey disappears into the crowd. Maggie glances back toward the gate; the rest of her squad has dispersed, likely in search of a cold drink. The schoolhouse is on the left, in the Simm's old home. Lucas had been reluctant to make the move, until he found out that the Water Processing Plant was one of the only places in Megaton with functional air conditioning, courtesy of his son. A few kids stand outside, playing a game that involves throwing a ball at the outside wall and then at each other.

"They call it Red Ass."

The corner of her lip quirks upward. The amusement comes less from the stupid name and more from the person saying it with the air of a sage: Gabriel Aberdeen comes up beside her, rugged and ruffled, with his dark hair a mess and jaw in need of a shave. His customary smile carries a solid youth to it still; it's the kind of smile that hasn't ever seen any reason to drop, though she knows that isn't true. She takes in the sight of him as he explains the game, sees the years he's carried in the scars marring the solidness of his body, in the laugh lines etching around his lips.

In the sunny basin of Megaton, she could be nine years old again, falling in love for the first time. What had he asked her all those years ago?

"... and the goal is to, well, make their asses red," Gabe continues, having explained the rules of the game. He grins at her. "It's good to see you, Maggie! It's been a while."

"No, it hasn't." It really hasn't. Gabe had recently come to the rescue of her squad, much to Butch's loud chagrin.

"It hasn't," he agrees, clapping her on the back with a large, warm hand, "but I've missed you all the same. How's Reilly doing?"

"Still hates you for ignoring the call of duty," Maggie teases. The expansion of Reilly's Rangers has been slow but excellently steady, with a high rate of training graduates and a low rate of casualties in skirmishes against the also-expanding Talon Company. Even so, having the eternally illustrious Lone Wanderer pulled out of honorary status and pushed into active duty would be an enormous boost, in both performance and morale.

"I'm my own boss. I think I've earned it." He nudges her arm. "What're you up to?"

"I was going to find Billy — "

"Nah, he's busy hashing out trade agreements with Marie. Dry stuff. If you interrupted, the friction from the  _sound waves_  of your voice would set everything on fire." He offers her his arm, and she stares at him with a haughty expression. He grins wider. His teeth are still so white. "C'mon. I'm treating you to lunch. Call it a business expense."

They snatch up seats at the Brass Lantern, which is constantly extending but always seems to be full. Andy and Leo are working together today; their relationship is still volatile at times, but the abrasive hate between them has been smoothed by their young niece. Matilda sits in her mother's lap, sharing a meal with her parents in the shade and babbling about school. Gabriel is always amused to see them, Ian and Jenny and their baby girl.

 _I'd set Amata up with the wrong West,_  he laughed once.

Now, they order their food and sit side-by-side, soaking in the sights and sounds of a constantly bustling city. Gabe rummages in a pocket.

"Now, I have something for you, and it's been a long time coming. I've  _really_  been meaning to do this sooner, but there never seems to be a right time."

Whatever it is, she can understand. He was always going away, and for a while, she avoided him. Then she left, too, and there had been no encounters outside of Megaton, despite the many fantasies of the notion that she'd entertained. Then, when she could visit, the chances of both of them hitting home at the same time were quite slim.

Still, it happened, and Maggie was older then, with the confidence that can only come from years of knowing your body and being in your element. She'd become an excellent medic for the Rangers, and no longer held Gabriel on the pedestal she once had. He was less an ideal, less a hero, less a goal and more a person, and she found herself able to talk with him, become friends with him.

If sometimes she blushed when he was friendly, that was alright. He was still an attractive man, after all.

She looks at the object he places on the counter in front of her. It appears to be a small, metal sculpture of a mouse with button eyes sitting atop a box with a slim crank coming out one side.

"It's Mousy Maguire," Gabe explains proudly, and Maggie beams at him. He waves a hand at it. "Try turning the handle."

She cradles the sculpture in her hand and gently tries the handle, surprised at how easy it gives way. After a few rotations, she grows a little disheartened, but before she can comment, a strange tinkling emits from the box. Her eyes widen as she continues, and the melody of a song falls into her palm, the sound sparkling and delicate. She knows this tune. Her heart still seems to skip a beat when she hears it. Sometimes, when she's trying to fall asleep under the stars, she will look up and imagine, clearly, this song whistled from a lookout's perch.

Gabriel begins to sing along, his voice rich and deep and so, so sweet: " _Living for you... it's easy living, it's easy to live..._  Do you like it?"

Maggie thinks of Billy crooning to Miss Mack. She thinks of Nick sometimes drunkenly serenading Harden, more often now that he's opening a shop in town. She thinks of Manya humming, slowly with eyes closed at Nathan's funeral, just weeks before her own. She thinks of Wadsworth warbling a recording as he tends to the late Dogmeat's kin, and Christine Kendall telling Butch to stop bitching about Andy Senior because it's sort of cute. She thinks of Ronnie, who left, trying to coax the ghouls to join her in harmony, with Moira, who'd wished her well, enthusiastically joining in, and Jericho correcting their pitches before Moriarty kicked out the lot of them for being unforgivably drunk.

Maggie thinks of kisses, hard and desperate in a lonely cold, and slow and sleepy in warm, safe arms, and smiles fondly, secretly, turning the crank to hit the last notes.


End file.
